Page 218 of This Life of Mine

“You didn’t fall for Cole,” she says gently. “You wereconditionedfor him.”

I let her words sink in, and something inside me gives way. My breath stutters, then collapses. I try to stay composed, but the sound escapes me anyway—raw and unfiltered. I bend forward, sobbing openly—not out of shame, but as a form of letting go.

She continues.

“And the fact that you’re asking this question now,” she adds, “means the conditioning didn’t win.”

I inhale deeply.

“So it wasn’t that I was blind,” I say, sniffing, trying to stifle my tears.

“No,” she replies without hesitation. “You were surviving.”

I nod in agreement as something inside me loosens.

The memories don’t disappear. The past doesn’t soften. But it finally makes sense. The pattern. The progression. Why I went from one hell to the next without realizing I was walking a familiar road.

It wasn’tlove. It wasn’t myfault…

It wasdomestic abuse.

And naming it feels like the first honest breath I’ve taken in years.

I sit with that breath for a moment. Let it settle.

Then another thought lingers. Quieter. More careful.

“There is something else,” I say.

Silvia looks at me, attentive but unalarmed. Waiting.

“Alex,” I say, considering a way to explain what he does without giving too much away. “His job can be seen as hazardous. He tracks dangerous people. People who hurt other people. Many times those people wish to remain hidden, so Alex finds himself in risky positions.”

“And sometimes,” I admit, my fingers tightening around the mug again, “I wonder if loving someone who puts himself in danger is like another version of the same pattern. Another way of living close to harm.”

The space feels more restricted as I say it. Honest. Exposed.

She observes me for a long, then asks, “How does Alex treat you? Are there similarities to Cole?”

The question lands differently than I expect.

I don’t even have to consider her question before answering.

“Not at all.” I smile, considering Alex and how he makes me feel.

“He doesn’t confront me and tell me what to do. He doesn’t decide anything for me. He doesn’t override my boundaries or dismiss my fears.”

I swallow.

“He listens. Even when what I’m saying seems wild and crazy or too much. Especially then.” A pause.

“He doesn’t violate my wishes. He doesn’t make me feel small for having needs. And he has never—never—made me afraid of him.”

“And he’s kind. Considerate. Loving and actually quite funny. He stares at me like I’m a dream he hopes he never wakes from.”

Silvia nods once, with a slant of a smile peeking through.

“That’s the difference,” she says gently. “Risk exists in the world. It always will. But abuse isn’t about proximity to danger—it’s about how someone holds power over you.”